Queen of Air and Darkness

xxvii. the final wickedness of a wicked species

Sasuke's lungs heaved for air as he tore through the forests of Konoha. The battle had claimed more from him than he had expected, hours and hours of tearing through combat, cutting down enemies. He had taken injury, from faces he didn't recognize, who seemed to care little that they fought against a fellow human.

So long as they saw him as an enemy.

And now that destiny was complete. It had seemed impossible that Madara, ancient, invincible, might fall. That Sakura Haruno, who had come from nothing, would be the one to tear through his ancestor and end the promise of a new world with one cut of her sword.

It was unthinkable. And he had reacted, in the best way he knew how.

And yet, Sasuke cursed himself as he ran. Some cool, strategic part of himself wondered: what was he doing? There was no gain in luring Naruto to his death.

It was different, far different, to strike out at Kakashi, the leader of Konoha's armies. The battle was long lost, but it would not have been without some small victory. A chance to claim some small vengeance of the Uchiha clan before he was executed and the line was ended forever.

But Sasuke had never imagined that Naruto would throw himself between them to stop Sasuke.

No. That wasn't true.

It was exactly the kind of thing Naruto would have done. It was the instinct that had made the Forest Flame choose Naruto as the next king of Konoha, passing over a score of people more qualified, more knowledgeable. This fetish for self-sacrifice propelled Naruto into danger no matter whose life was at stake.

It was the same instinct that propelled Naruto to chase after Sasuke.

But what would he do now, exploiting that tendency, that same cool voice asked. What did he hope to gain from this final battle?

Victory. Vengeance. Naruto's death. It would be a fitting end for the king. But that was a thin list of reasons. They had little to do with the true motive that drove him forward, that called on nearly tapped reserves of energy.

A universe where Naruto lived on after Sasuke had been executed, was intolerable. A universe where their tie that connected their destinies was shorn. A universe where Naruto sired heirs, his legacy cemented, without a single thought for his rival.

Whatever cooler thoughts might have held sway over Sasuke were dead at that argument.

Sasuke reached the edge of the Naka River; the perfect setting for his final stand. He stopped, sliding in a spray of river stones and snow. The river had frozen over in the depths of winter, turning the normally raging waters into a gleaming mirror.

"Sasuke," Naruto called, crashing through the underbrush. "Wait!"

What was there to wait for, but battle? Sasuke drew his blade, turning to face his opponent. In their arrogance, the knights of Konoha had not bothered to disarm Sasuke. They had thought him beaten, and left him the sword at his hip. The fools.

Naruto responded in kind, already taking a fighting posture. There would be no bows, no etiquette. Such petty adherence to etiquette had won Madara no victory. And so he would not be so foolish. This was no exhibition match. It was a blood sport, as desperate and serious as any war.

It was the period at the end of their shared destiny. The final line of their shared prophecy.

(Never say Sasuke Uchiha did not learn from his mentors. Orochimaru. Madara. He had learned their lessons well. He had learned to leave no work unfinished)